


Gioia's Not So Joyful Discovery

by Persipnei



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: AU – Lost Immortality, Andy told them not to take photos for a REASON, Comedy, Domesticity, Family, Humor, Includes Footnotes, M/M, Mentioned Andy | Andromache of Scythia, Mentioned Booker | Sebastien le Livre, Mentioned Nile Freeman, Mentioned Quynh | Noriko, Parents Joenicky, mentions of historical events
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:28:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27304864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persipnei/pseuds/Persipnei
Summary: But what was more upsetting? The fact that Papà had the beard then —okay, more like a stubble— or that their timeline made no sense? Her fathers were...normal people.Perfectly normal uncool dads. This... This had to be a mistake.Starting to feel stupidly overwhelmed and no longer knowing if she should focus on how delirious her discovery was or how insulted she felt about their outfits no matter if they either looked fashionable or not in those photographs, she decided to take a look at the last one before forgetting about this altogether.Or try to.ORJoe and Nicky lost their immortality back in 2003. After retiring with Andromache's approval, they settled down in Malta and started a family. Their past turns one boring afternoon into a complete mess.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 25
Kudos: 171





	Gioia's Not So Joyful Discovery

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to try something short and a little silly. Hopefully I will find the time to write for this fandom as much as I want to! 
> 
> **Quick information before reading** : Quynh was never captured and they never lost her, Nile became part of the team towards the 19th century or the very beginning of the 20th century (I just couldn't figure out when... If you have any ideas, let me know!) and Booker is still sad but probably helped Joe and Nicky get their new identities. 
> 
> Enjoy ;) 
> 
> (As usual the English is not perfect, I apologize, but feel free to tell me if I messed it up with some translation!)  
>  **Happy Halloween and stay safe!!**

**MARSA, MALTA, 2018**

Gio knew that this afternoon could mark a before and after in her life.

Gio knew that her fathers were testing her, today. That it would be their way to figure out if she was ready to be _responsible_ and _act her age_. To her it was rather obvious that she was capable of that _and more_. She has been showing that she is quite mature for her age since... Forever, really. They adopted her at the age of three and she was already mature then. She never lost anything in her life. Not even a pencil... Not even her keys! And that surely had to show that she was mindful and awfully responsible.

But... They still wanted to see if she would be capable of looking after her younger siblings while they were out. Papà told her, over and over again before leaving, that she could call them at any moment. Baba, on the other hand, decided to spent those last minutes chasing her younger siblings in order to kiss them some more before their _departure_. That was nothing new, 90% of her Baba's personality was being clingy. The other 10% was getting heated while watching a football match because, apparently, the referee was either blind or bribed. Whatever that suited his arguments that evening.

She nodded as many times as her father needed to feel satisfied before leaving the house. She was fifteen years old, she could survive a few hours with two brats _just fine_. So, she told them to enjoy their date as much as possible —they've been married for... Who knows how long and they _still_ had dates, they were ridiculous like that— and then proceeded to sit down on the couch with her laptop and make sure those two wouldn't end up in the hospital while her fathers were away.

That was everything she did until Jibrīl decided to make her task a little more challenging when he stated: “I'm bored.” And after seeing that his older sister didn't pay him much attention, he insisted: “ _We_ are bored.”

Gio finally lifted her eyes from the screen of her laptop and looked at Luċija. Such long name for someone so little; main reason why they called the youngest member of the family _Luci_. The five year old was still sloppily brushing the doll's hair with her clumsy fingers.

Gio looked back at her laptop and mumbled: “She doesn't look bored to me.”

“Trust me, she is bored, _Gioia_.”

Jibrīl knew how to annoy her. He only had to mention her name. She might be Gioia by birth, but she was Gio by conviction. She would rather have them believing her name was Giovanna, for some reason, way better than _Gioia_. Baba kept saying that it was a very fitting name. She brought them plenty of joy, after all. While she was sure he meant it, she still hated it with burning passion.

“So?” she asked as her brother approached her, leaning over the arm of the couch, trying to take a look at what she was doing with her computer. She shut it close before he could see anything. He would _snitch_.

“Entertain us.” he shrugged.

“Do I look like a clown?” she snorted, crossing her arms under her chest. When he parted his lips and had the nerve to smile, she _warned_ him: “Do you want to end up crying?” He was nine, she will _easily_ win in a fight.

“You'll be grounded.” Jibrīl hummed not taking her threat seriously.

“I already have a criminal record.” Gio waved her hand. That would barely be a _misdemeanor_.

Jibrīl rolled his eyes: “You stole a postcard in Palermo when you were _twelve_ , don't act all cool about it.” Gio hummed and before she could bring up the fact that the owner of the shop caught her, he added: “You were so ashamed that you ended up crying and Baba had to return it for you.”

“Such thing never happened, thank you.” She would _never_ crack under pressure.

“ _Entertain us_.” he insisted. Gio looked at Luci, ignored his request. That pushed him to play dirty: “I'll tell them you were terrible. That you ignored us. That you made Luci cry.”

“They'll know you are lying.” she shrugged.

“ _I_ can make her cry.”

Gio squinted. He had no right to be _that_ manipulative while being so little. Manipulation should be something you unlocked during your teenage years, not before. And surely it shouldn't be used against your _older_ sister.

“What do you want to do.” she grumbled.

He pursed his lips, thoughtful, like he didn't already have the answer to that question. She knew her brother well, he probably had the whole afternoon planned. He rocked himself back and forward before he leaned over the arm of the sofa and rested his head over her shoulder. She pushed him away, already annoyed. “Dress-up?” he finally suggested.

“That's all?” she would rather ask before facing more _extortion_.

“That's all!” he grinned brightly. “Luci, we are going to play dress-up!” he announced to his younger sister. She beamed, lowering her doll. “Do you want to?” She nodded eagerly as Gio already started to stand up with her laptop under her arm. “Gio will bring us the clothes, okay? We'll stay here!”

Manipulative _and_ lazy. Her brother was literally the worst.

Gio headed upstairs, complaining and huffing under her breath. Maybe being resposible and mature didn't pay off. Maybe it would be better for her fathers to assume she couldn't look after her siblings. She wouldn't have to deal with these kind of situations.

After leaving her laptop in her room, she closed the door and headed towards her fathers' bedroom. They had a spectacular collection of vintage clothes for no reason. They didn't wear them, they didn't collect them and they surely had no use for them other than occasionally turn them into costumes to entertain Jibrīl and Luċija. According to her friend Tamyra, that's one of the many reasons why her dads were _so cool_.

First of all, it was ridiculous that being cool was reduced to having old clothes in your closet. Her fathers probably went through a _phase_ when they wanted to embrace the vintage look and got tired of it. And second... Her fathers weren't cool. Baba wasn't cool, he had a beard. Papà wasn't cool, he was only quiet.

But Tamyra disagreed with her: _Your Baba is pretty damn cool because he is an artist and your Papà is cool because he looks super mysterious_. That afternoon Gio questioned their friendship because Tamyra went even further than that and sighed mourfully: _And not everybody has the luck to have cool parents, you know?_

Gio felt like she had to make a point: _Cool parents don't exist_.

There are parents who _want_ to be cool. There are parents that want their kids to see them as their friends, so they can trust them with literally anything. But Gio often thought: _how do you know they won't switch back to their parents' mode?_ No. Impossible. Cool parents _don't_ exist... And even if there _were_ cool parents out there, hers wouldn't fit that description. Why? Well, that's a simple question: her Baba spent 2011 constantly singing _Ai Se Eu Te Pego_ [1] — _yes_ , dance included— and therefore that casted him out of the realm of coolness. Papà was not any better, considering that he had a mug collection and he _also_ ruthelessly shut down her dreams of dyeing her hair green two weeks ago. Not that she was still bitter about it, but...

But you can't imagine how _sappy_ those two got when they thought they were alone in the kitchen! _So not cool_.

Gio decided not to think about that argument any further. Her afternoon was _already_ miserable enough. She walked straight towards her fathers' closet and opened it to get a few clothes her siblings could play with. With some luck, Jibrīl will be satisfied until they make it back and she'll prove herself to be the most mature teenage daughter a pair of uncool dads could have.

She grabbed the most colorful and tacky clothes she found and threw them over her shoulder, careless if those didn't land on the bed. It drove Papà insane when the house looked messy, but considering how choatic Baba's nightstand looked, she doubted he would have the moral authority to scold her when he agreed to live with such mess in his own room.

What caught her attention was the box they had in their closet. She didn't think she saw that there before —sometimes Baba got lazy and asked her to bring him his jacket, that he was _scandalously close to fifty_ and therefore, _his poor knees couldn't possibly take him upstairs_ — so she decided to pull the box out of the closet to see if she could find some silly hats or sunglasses in there.

With one quick look, it didn't seem like she was going to find any accessories in that box but she still decided to sit down on the floor. The more time she takes away from those two, _the better_. It looked like it was some sort of _treasured memories_ box, because she could see a few small photo albums, a couple of sketchbooks and even a VHS cassette sitting on top. That was the first thing she picked from inside the box and could recognize Papà's neat handwriting on the faded sticker: _♪ Insieme: 1992 ♪ - EUROVISION 1990_ [2].

_Insieme... Insieme..._

Oh! Yes!

Her father still sang that song — _...l'Europa non è lontana, c'è una canzone Italiana, per voi. Insieme, unite, unite... Europe!_ — while cooking dinner, sometimes. When was this, again? 1990. If her father was now forty-five that meant he was born in 1973, right? So he must have been seventeen years when this happened. Gio grinned, thinking about her father as a teenager, singing and cheering in front of a TV, rooting for his country to win Eurovision.

She set the VHS cassette aside and decided that she would find a way to see the content that was hiding in there. Because if that was her father's reaction to the song then... It promised to be good. Papà was not the most effusive man in the world —Baba claimed that title for himself a long time ago—, but he was... Ah, maybe she shouldn't say it. But Papà was pretty sweet. She has seen the pride and love in his eyes ever since... Well. Ever since she arrived to this house.

She did love her fathers but that _still_ didn't make them cool.

When she picked the first album, the photographs fell from it and back into the box.

“Baba...” she huffed as she shook her head.

Such a messy, messy man! Papa indulged him way too much. She will make sure to tell him that it was absolutely _unfair_ that he told her to clean her room or try to keep it as tidy as possible when Baba was unable to do such an easy task.

Gio fished the photos from inside the box, gathering them all and barely giving them a proper look before she left the little stack over her lap. Then she observed the first one and smiled. She turned it to read the back: _2000, Baco del Millennio??? Sembra bello... ma non ci credo! (2000, Millennium Bug [3]? It seems nice ... but I don't believe it!)._

2000, that was three years before she was born, so they must be... in their late twenties, right? Gio turned the photo to take a proper look and snorted. _Alright, yes_. Her fathers looked younger than they did now. Which... It was strange.

The whole relationship they had with growing older was _very_ strange. Sometimes they complained and other times they seemed to be even thrilled about time merely passing by. Like that was not a rule of the universe _or whatever_. She caught Papà massaging the corner of his eyes in front of his bathroom mirror, both trying to smooth the wrinkles while observing them with fascination. There was also a time when Baba asked Papà to help him pluck all the white hairs from his beard. But that was a excuse for him to pout like a child and get the other to massage the harmed spot with careful and tender circular moves. She knew him well enough to see the reason behind _his requests_. Like when he pretends that his hair is very tangled —it can't _not_ be tangled, he has curly hair, _come on_ — so Luci will want to brush it.

 _Absolutely not cool_.

The photo was probably taken in someone's living room. Not theirs, because she didn't recognise the forniture or that narrow _yellow_ sofa. Papà was smiling at the camera, holding a calendar in his hand. There was a smiley face drawn on the first day of the century. It was a Saturday, apparently. Papà's right arm was wrapped around a man she didn't know but that she surely considered quite... weird looking.

For starters, he was wearing a teal hoodie with the logo of the _Teletubbies_ right on his chest. Why a man who looked in his mid forties would wear something like that she had no idea. But it surely made her father look like a hypocrite because he kept pointing at the holes in her tights —it was fashion, her style, thank you very much— and offered himself to buy her a new pair if she wanted him to. He had a friend who wore a Teletubbies' hoodie. He can't tell her _nothing_.

And not only that. The man had two fingers of his right hand lifted and she never saw anyone who meant that symbol of victory any _less_ than him. He almost looked bummed out that the end of the world didn't happen. Her fathers had such weird friends in their youth.

Baba was standing behind them and the couch, with one hand on Papà's shoulder and the other on the not so chipper friend's. His smile was so wide and so happy that it almost made her feel sympathetic towards the strange man. Did he lose a bet? Or he was just tired? Because maybe she could relate a bit to that.

Gio left the photo over the VHS cassette and squinted at the next one. As she did before, she turned it around: _Berlin, 1989_.

Why did they have a photo of Berlin? She paid enough attention in class to remember what happened in that city during that year and if her memory wasn't enough, it was clear what was happening since plenty of people were helping others to climb up that wall. She was about to leave it aside without paying that much attention to it if wasn't for the fact that she swore that she saw Baba in there. All the faces in that photo were just too small for her to able to tell for sure. And while she never thought she would ever see her father with a mohawk, she could recognize that smile. The very same one that appeared in the previous photograph. She frowned and brought the photograph closer to her face. Wearing a denim jacket with a wool collar, he was shaking the hand of a man that was giving his back to the camera.

Well, that didn't make any sense. Her father was nineteen in 1989, and he already looked... Well, in his early thirties, like in the previous photo. And she was pretty damn sure he never lived in Berlin. He would have mentioned it. Baba was unable to keep a secret. Sadly, she knew that from experience.

Just to be sure, Gio kept scanning the photograph. If Baba was there, then Papà couldn't be very far from him...

And she was not sure if she found him. There was a man with a very strange hair cut —the bottom half of the head shaved and the top slicked back in a ridiculous ponytail— crouching besides a woman with platinum blonde hair helping a man climb up the wall. The baggy bright purple and neon green jacket didn't encourage her to think it was her father even if she could tell that was his nose even from that position.

 _No_. No way. Her fathers were too young to be in that photograph. Maybe they kept it because they thought it was funny there were people in there who looked like them. That's it.

 _Whatever_ , onto the next one.

Also pretty crowded, but considering there was a girl sitting on someone's shoulders in the back, she could easily tell it was a concert. Everybody had their arms up in the air, others were a little slower and were still clapping. Her fathers were in the middle of the photo, even if the one who took the picure was at least two or three rows ahead then and the heads of the people who were standing in the middle covered them partially.

Between them there was a black girl wearing a denim jacket with a bunch of colorful patches. Her hair was curly and her silver hoops reflected the light of the camera. She could barely see Papà's face since someone's arm got in the way, but Baba was visibly having the time of his life.

When did this happened? Her fathers didn't have all that many friends nowadays. And she already spotted two different people in those photographs that she didn't know.

Gio turned the photo only to frown: _Live Aid, 1985_.

“What? _No_.” she huffed.

 _Absolutely not_.

That made no sense! Baba would be fifteen! And that is surely not the face a fifteen year old would have! _She_ didn't look like that!

“Is this...” Gio looked around, squinting and expecting her fathers to come out from under the bed and tell that she has been pranked. She stayed in silence for a couple of seconds but nothing happened. Neither it looked like they hid a camera or a phone around the bedroom to record her reaction.

_What the Hell is going on?_

Gio slammed the photo on top of the other two, not so caring of the VHS cassette anymore. The first thing she saw of that photo was the back. There, with big and green letters, there was more information of when it was taken: _[Túnez 3 – México 1] Mundial de Fútbol '78, Estadio Gigante de Arroyito, Rosario, Argentina. ([Tunisia 3 – Mexico 1] 1978 FIFA World Cup)._

She didn't know that much Spanish, but she could understand it just fine. And if it wasn't clear enough, a number was still a _number_.

Her only reaction could only be: “Fuck no.”

In 1978, Baba was eight and Papà was five. _Stop that_.

There was no way they went to a World Cup. Sure! Her fathers kept saying that they met when they were very young, but not _that_ young. They would say that they met when they were _children_.

“Oh, get out of here!” Gio huffed as she turned the photograph and saw that they were grown adults in that one too.

Not that he was starting to get a little bit scared. More like... _Alright_. It was a little bit eerie, because... Either those photos were staged —but why would they want them?— or... _Or what?_

She swallowed and the first thought that came to her head was that Papà had the grossest moustache a fifteen year old could think of. He wasn't even looking at the camera, he wasn't even looking at the game playing in front of them. He was in the stadium, but he couldn't care less about what was happening there. The photo was taken from behind, so she could only see their backs. She would recognize Baba's curls anywhere and if that wasn't enough, he was wearing the shirt of his national team, bright red with a name of a player she didn't know right on his back. That was _exactly_ the way Baba wrapped his arm around Papà's waist when he leaned against him to celebrate something. His other arm was up in the air and she could practically hear him cheering. Papà was touching his back, supportive but still... not part of the celebration.

“No, no. No.” she continued to shake her head. That was impossible. This was all a lie and she... She was so not going to lose her mind over this because there must be a proper explanation behind these strange photographs.

But to Gio's dismay, the following photo was in _black and white_. The white border of the photograph was thick and obtained a yellowish tint after decades of being stored and shielded from the light.

_Ṭanğa, al-Maġrib. 1968. Mae habibi. (Tangier, Morocco. 1968. With my beloved.)_

_1968_.

 _Two_ years before Baba was born. _Five_ years before Papà was born. And yet, they still looked in their late twenties or early thirties as they did in any other photograph she found in that stupid box.

It was a beautiful photo, there was no denying in that. While it did not capture the color of the sea behind them or their car, it showed that it was taken during a sunny and beautiful day. Papà was sitting over the hood of the car, with an arm around Baba's shoulders. He smiled at the camera, kind and sweet because... Well, Papà didn't know how to smile any differently. Gio found it slightly more unnerving the fact that he was wearing in that photo the pink and orange floral shirt they often wore to play dress-up. But they surely did more buttons than her father did, since she could even see the necklace dangling from his neck.

The girl turned her head slightly only to find that same garment hanging from the edge of the bed. She gulped and shivered before she kept looking at the photograph.

Baba was leaning against the hood of the car, with his hip tilted to the side and one arm around Papà since she could see his hand resting over his waist. His other hand was over Papà's knee, squeezing lightly. Gio _hated_ to admit it but his style then was pretty neat with the aviator glasses, the leather jacket and the denims. She'd get rid of the sideburns but... _Okay_. Perhaps that was also the first time she saw Baba clean shaven. Turns out he even had dimples when he smiled that widely... If Papà always smiled kindly, then Baba always smiled full of joy.

But what was more upsetting? The fact that Papà had the beard then —okay, more like a _stubble_ — or that their timeline made no sense? Her fathers were... _normal people_. _Perfectly normal uncool dads_. This... This had to be a mistake.

Starting to feel stupidly overwhelmed and no longer knowing if she should focus on how delirious her discovery was or how insulted she felt about their outfits no matter if they either looked fashionable or not in those photographs, she decided to take a look at the last one before forgetting about this altogether. _Or try to_.

And that one turned to be even older and she was _tired_ of this: _New York City, 1953. Joe & Quynh_.

Another photo taken from behind, this time inside of a museum with Baba turning to look at the camera over his shoulder, far from impressed perhaps even looking slightly insulted. The woman standing by his side had a very long and dark beautiful hair. She was laughing, probably of his reaction. Between them, she could see what she assumed that was a painting considering it was just... paint poured over a canvas[4].

Before she could check on her phone the name of that artist —something with a _P_ , but...—, Gio heard Jibrīl calling her name from the living room.

“These two are in big trouble!” she grumbled before she stood up, grabbing the photos. She would keep them as evidence for her fathers' unexplainable crime.

*** * ***

Joe could tell there was something wrong with Gio; she was grumpier than usual.

By the time they made it back home before dinner, their oldest daughter was already sulking and glaring at them. She refused to greet them —no matter how much he kept insisting on the fact that in their house kisses were mandatory, you see, he'd change the rules but now it was simply too late— or even answer any question about how the afternoon went. Jibrīl and Luci looked perfectly happy, even if wearing their old clothes —their little girl was, apparently, a very classy lady and their son was a detective who was undercover and therefore had to pretend to be an astronaut—, so he couldn't possibly imagine what went wrong.

Everything got far more serious when Joe asked her if she was upset for something that happened in school and she said: “We'll talk later.”

How Gio managed to effortlessly mimick Nicky's ominous tone was both impressive and scary.

“Uh.” he could only answer, nodding slightly.

Then the teen sat down on the couch and crossed her arms. The man could only head back towards the kitchen. He set a hand over Nicky's back. When he caught the attention of his husband, he whispered: “The calm before the storm.”

“That bad?” he tilted his head.

“Absolutely. She wants to talk _later_.”

“Later?” he asked.

“I assume she doesn't want to speak much in front of her siblings?” Joe suggested, looking down at Luci who was currently holding onto Nicky's waist while he was finishing dinner. Their youngest was clingy like her Baba, perhaps but it was not like Nicky had it in him to ever push anyone who seeked comfort away from him.

“We are about to be scolded.” Nicky snickered.

“What have we done?” Joe frowned. “I no longer tell her how much I love before dropping her off at school.” After a pause, he added: “And it takes _a lot_ of effort from my part.”

Nicky smiled a little wider and shook his head. Luci moved towards Joe and raised her arms, already trying to climb her father's body. He picked her up instantly.

“You can tell me.” Luci said. “You can tell me _all the time_.”

Thankfully, she was not old enough to think that fatherly love could only be displayed in silence _and_ indoors. Joe sighed with delight and smooched Luci's cheeks as Nicky observed them adoringly.

But peace never lasted very long under their roof. A very telling noise came from the living room.

Nicky frowned and tilted his head, leaning back slightly, peering through the open door.

“Jibrīl?” he called.

“...Yes?” he answered from the now unusually quiet living room.

“You are not playing football inside of the house, are you?”

“...No?”

Nicky sighed, knowing that he was lying. Joe patted his waist as if saying: _I'll take care of it_.

“Come on, we'll all play outside until dinner is ready.” he sentenced as he walked out of the kitchen with Luci still on his hip.

Joe only shook his head when he caught Jibrīl attempting to hide the ball behind his back while pushing the coffee table back on its place with his right knee.

The fact that Gio didn't snitch on her brother right away implied that she was truly not talking to them.

They were in _big_ trouble.

*** * ***

Joe's plan was _infallible_ : he was going to knock at her door and pout. Ask her what her silly old Baba did wrong this time and then find a way to make it right. But as soon as he proceeded with the very step of his incredibly elaborated plan, Gio opened the door and shoved something right on his face.

His eyes crossed slightly at the sudden blurr of black and white. He needed a second to take a proper look and when he saw the photograph that taken decades ago in his daughter's hand, he froze. Suddenly, he had no plan _at all_.

“Ah.”

“1968.” she said, accusative. “ _1968_ , Baba!”

Joe didn't know what to say or do. In fact, his brain was offering no solutions to the matter at hand. Not one. Not even a stupid lie. He swallowed and took the photo from her hand, so she could stop using it like a weapon. He has had people aiming at his head with guns —and _firing_ them—, but not even then he felt as lost as he was now.

What could he possibly say? _Your father and I were immortal for a while, but none of that matters anymore. We left that life behind and then we started a family, but we still keep our swords and a few fire weapons buried under a thick layer of concrete under our basement just in case if someone decides to pay us a visit_. Right, because that would be very easy to understand. And Gio... Ah, he loved his daughter to death, but she was not always all that willing to accept other points of views. And that answer? That couldn't possibly even be accepted by the most reasonable person in the world.

“Explain!” she urged him.

“You see... I wouldn't want to discuss this without your fa—”

“Call him.”

And since Joe couldn't even come up with a decent lie, he nodded and raised his voice slightly: “Nicky?” And since his husband didn't answer to his desperate call right away, he insisted: “Nicolò?”

The younger man emerged from Luci's room with a finger on his lips. She just fell asleep. Jibrīl had fifteen minutes more that he could spend reading, but not more than that because they had class tomorrow.

Nicky noticed Joe's expression and he tilted his head to the side as he walked down the corridor towards him: _What is it?_

Joe vaguely raised the photograph: _I forgot to take the box with our photos back to the basement_.

Nicky closed his eyes and sighed: _Yusuf...!_

Joe pressed his lips: _I'm so sorry!_

He rubbed his back when he reached Gio's room. There was no use in making him feel bad about a mistake. It's not like Nicky brought the box back to its hiding spot either. But... sometimes they both got melancholic. They missed their old family and considering they had to reduce their communication to a bare minimum for their own safety and their children's, memories were the only way to go back in time.

“Come on, don't give your father such a hard time, Gio.” Nicky sighed.

“You have _no right_ to talk to me, you had a moustache in the seventies!” she grabbed the photo taken in Argentina and put it right in front of her Papà's nose.

“You know how old I am, Gio.” Right, physically he was forty-five, considering that he resumed it about fifteen years ago. What happened between thirty and thirty-one was a bit of a mystery, still, but no longer part of his life. Neither Joe's. “Keep it down, please, your sister is sleeping.”

“I want you to explain me what are these photographs, Papà!” Gio insisted, furrowing her eyebrows. “I'm freaking out, okay? I tried to keep it cool in front of Jibrīl and Luci, but I don't understand what's going on! So, _please_.” she pleaded, reaching out to grab his shirt.

He gave the photo to Joe and reached out for her, wrapping his arm around her and soothingly rubbing her arm. Nicky looked at Joe who sighed. He asked for his permission since perhaps there was no other way to do this. He didn't want to lie to his daughter, but this time it was one of the very few times he thought that the truth was way worse than anything they could come up with.

“You see, tesoro... For a little while, your father and I... We...” he licked his lips, brushing Gio's hair away from her forehead with his free hand. She observed him with big worried eyes. “We were...”

And then Joe _finally_ had an idea.

Before Nicky could reveal a very odd truth, Joe blurted out: “ _Actors_.”

Gio blinked and frowned, turning her head to look at her Baba: “Actors?”

“Extras, really.” Joe swallowed. “We never had any lines or anything.”

“Right...” Nicky whispered, also looking at Joe, raising his eyebrows. Joe only licked his lips and nodded slightly at him: _Play along_. “Exactly. Extras of not very popular movies, in fact.”

“Or even good.” Joe said dismissively. He wanted to believe that if his daughter didn't show him the fake IDs and driving licenses they also kept in that box, it was because the photos were shoking enough for her to stop going through everything that was in there. This could work. “We were trying to make some money. We knew we wanted to move here, buy a house.”

“But we couldn't afford it. So we spent our spare time... doing that.”

“...” Gio said nothing, not showing any signs of feeling convinced just yet.

“We thought it would be funny to make these photos look like they were taken back during the time period when the movie was set.” Joe went on, raising the photographs he was currently holding in his hands.

“...No one would make a movie about a football world cup.” Gio mumbled before looking up at her Papà. “ _No one_.”

“It wasn't only about that. It was a complicated time period for that country[5].” he explained briefly.

“Was it?”

“Yes.” he answered before he kissed her forehead. When she started moving towards her desk to pick another photograph, he released her. Nicky stood by Joe's side, squeezing his forearm. _At least we saved it_.

“This one is also from a movie?” she showed them the photo with the Teletubbies' hoodie man. “Because that must be the worst movie in _history_.”

Joe chuckled and shook his head. “No. That's not a movie. That's...” He decided not to mention even the nickname. You can never be too careful when you have a past like theirs. “That used to be one of our roommates.”

“You lived _willingly_ with someone who dressed _like that_?” Because she couldn't still figure out why would anyone think that having his photograph taken while wearing such hoodie would be remotely flattering.

Joe grinned mischievously and Nicky sighed: “Ask your Baba, he was the one who got him that hoodie.”

“It matched his maturity level.” he gloated, still very proud of his own joke.

Gio continued to frown but she lowered the photo slowly. Then she licked her lips and tentatively asked: “So... You were extras in movies. For a little while. Just to make money.”

The both of them nodded.

“But those movies sucked. _Big time_.”

“They were crap. _All of them_.” Joe added.

“But at least they helped us get here.” Nicky concluded.

Gio stayed in silence, clearly lost in thought. Well... It had to be that. It couldn't be anything else. The explanation was not exactly pleasing and she felt that if she kept asking, she would eventually figure out there was so much left to be explained. But it _had_ to be that. She didn't even want to think about what could be hiding behind those photos. She did not want her fathers to be super endurable secret agents or _something like that_. They were dads and that's as much as they will _ever_ be.

And since she grew silent, Joe felt the need to ask: “Our past as background actors makes us cool, don't you think?”

That forced Gio to join the conversation once more: “It does _not_.”

“Tamyra's dad appeared on TV, didn't he?” Joe asked, tilting his head and squinting. His memory was far from great, but he was quite certain.

“In an add about pills that prevented you from having flatulence in public!” she huffed, beyond exasperated. Both girls agreed that was the uncoolest thing that it ever happened even if Tamyra's dad considered his deed both hilarious and worth sharing with _anyone_ that crossed his path.

“... _Only_ in public?” Nicky couldn't help but ask, licking his lips. He couldn't help but chuckle when he heard Joe giggling by his side.

“Papà!” Gio grumbled. Not the right time for jokes.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry.” Nicky smiled, now feeling way calmer. Good God, they really dodged a bullet. Thankfully his husband had an imaginative mind and could come up with something that, by now, it seemed to work. “But you have to promise you'll stop going through our things.” he asked as he moved to take the other photographs scattered over the desk.

“I wasn't. They wanted to play dress-up and I got curious...” she mumbled. “I did well. I showed I was very responsible. Very mature, too.” Then she looked at Joe. “Right?”

“Absolutely.” he sighed with a gentle smile. Gio seemed to cheer up and Joe couldn't help himself before kissed her cheek longly. She ended up groaning.

“I'm just telling you...” Nicky clearly felt a little humorous after avoiding such conversation. “Because you don't want to accidentally find your Baba's poetry, do you?”

“Oh, no. No, _please_.” Gio mumbled and at least that kept her father from squishing her against his chest in order to keep kissing her cheek. He had to release her to pout and complain. That was when Gio ushered her fathers out of her bedroom and closed the door.

They explanation had been accepted but the conversation was _over_.

Joe sighed and Nicky let out a sympathetic hum before he wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pressed a gentle kiss against his husband's temple.

“Quick mind.” he flattered him as they headed back towards their bedroom.

“Not so quick.” Joe decided not to brag this time. Unlikely to happen often but not completely unthinkable. “It's you, habibi. You always spark my imagination. I see you and words obtain a new meaning.”

Nicky smiled even more, accepting the flatteries the older man always offered so willingly and rewarded him with yet another kiss, this time on his cheek.

“You did well.” he opened the door for the both of them before closing it to obtain a desperately needed privacy. “But we need to be more careful.”

“Absolutely.” Joe sighed as he saw the box still out of their closet. They were pretty damn lucky she didn't get all the documents and old sketches they kept there. It would have been a little more complicated to explain.

Nicky released him and picked the box, putting it over the bed. He took one of the little photo albums and extended his hand towards Joe, who _only_ returned the one taken during the World Cup.

Nicky noticed and smiled slightly as he took the time to make the box slightly less messy. Then he asked: “You surely love that one, don't you?”

“With burning passion.” he sighed happily before sitting down over the mattress. “You looked beautiful.” With his long hair and his stubble, the colorful shirts and the silver necklace over his collarbones.

“Everybody liked hippie Nicky.” he stated simply. It was a good decade. Granted, not all over the world, but it was somehow encouraging to see that _humanity_ wanted to get to cherish peace.

“Hippie Nicky could, in fact, get quite feisty.” Joe grinned, capturing one of Nicky's wrists and caressing his knuckles with his thumb. Always affectionate, always tender. Nicky stood closer to him and used his free hand to massage the back of his neck. Joe closed his eyes and hummed: “And I loved him for it.”

“Love and peace had a limit when they wanted to involve my husband in their _shenanigans_.” Nicky huffed. “You were always a magnet for _mediocre artists_ , tesoro.”

Oh, it _angered_ him to see them go in flocks to Tangier only to abuse the situation of the local boys endured there[6]. It infuriated him to see how men were reduced to their fantasies and how Joe was approached by one of them. Joe, who was all smiles and gentle reminders that he was already in a loving relationship. Nicky took pride in thinking that he was a calm man. That he would always try to avoid violence as much as possible because that was, sadly, the only way they had to balance the good and the bad for so long. But when he saw that man so close to his husband, ignoring any boundary then... He did exactly what Joe would have done for him. They protected and took care of each other. _Always_.

“You punched him.” By the way he was smiling, Joe still thought it was hilarious. “To protect my honor.”

“You looked too handsome.” Nicky claimed with a small shrug. Joe grinned, boyish, and lifted the photo only to place it close to his face. He was older now, but never less beautiful. “I understood the effect you had on others. That style made you look irresistible, but that doesn't excuse his behavior. I still hide his books whenever I see them in a bookstore.”

“Do you?” Joe laughed.

Nicky grinned and shrugged: “ _Perhaps_.” Certain attitudes can't and won't be excused.

“Oh, I adore you.” Joe sighed, finally leaving the photo in the box before raising his hands to capture Nicky's face with them.

Nicky smiled against his husband's mouth as they kissed.

They would have to be more careful next time, until then...

*** * ***

The silence was nerve-racking.

Tamyra squinted and frowned while she looked at her. Gio lamely shrugged as she took another small bite of her sandwich.

“So...” she began. “you are telling me your parents were in _cool European indie movies_ when they were young and my father appeared in an add to stop farting?” Tamyra sounded _insulted_. Gio felt like she would awaken the beast if she told her they weren't only European. Neither the States, Argentina or Morocco were in Europe, from her understanding. It wouldn't help. “Life is so unfair, I swear.”

Gio lacked the strength to fight her that morning, but she was certain of one thing: her dads were still _far_ from being cool.

 _Nonnegotiable_.

**Author's Note:**

>  **FOOTNOTES:**  
>  1 Song popularized in 2011 by several football players such as Neymar, Marcelo, Cristiano Ronaldo, Alejandro Domínguez and Fernando Cavenaghi.
> 
> 2 "Insieme: 1992" (English translation: "Together: 1992") was the winning song of the Eurovision Song Contest 1990, in Zagreb, Yugoslavia, performed in Italian by Toto Cutugno for Italy, the country's second victory in the Contest. Source: Wikipedia. 
> 
> 3 The Year 2000 problem, also known as the Y2K problem, the Millennium bug, Y2K bug, the Y2K glitch, or Y2K, refers to events related to the formatting and storage of calendar data for dates beginning in the year 2000. [...] A variety of fringe groups and individuals such as those within some fundamentalist religious organizations, survivalists, cults, anti-social movements, self-sufficiency enthusiasts, communes and those attracted to conspiracy theories, embraced Y2K as a tool to engender fear and provide a form of evidence for their respective theories. End-of-the-world scenarios and apocalyptic themes were common in their communication. Source: Wikipedia
> 
> 4 Autumn Rhythm (Number 30) is a 1950 abstract expressionist painting by American artist Jackson Pollock in the collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City. The work is a distinguished example of Pollock's 1947-52 poured-painting style, and is often considered one of his most notable works. Source: Wikipedia
> 
> 5 The 1978 FIFA World Cupwas the 11th edition of the FIFA World Cup, quadrennial international football world championship tournament amoung the men's senior national teams, was held in Argentina between 1 and 25 June. A controversy surrounding the 1978 World Cup was that Argentina had undergone a military coup only two years before the cup, which installed a dictatorship known as the National Reorganization Process. Less than a year before the World Cup, in September 1977, Interior Minister General Albano Harguindeguy, stated that 5,618 people had recently disappeared. Source: Wikipedia
> 
> 6 Up until at least the 1960s, Tangier was a sexual, and more specifically homosexual, tourism hotspot for nineteenth-century writers. With its international status, the city offered all the ingredients of a space in which writers could fuel their fantasies, create amoral, mystical, sexual or syntactic revolution and find inspiration. American literature, with Bowles, Gyson, Williams, Vidal, Capote, Sontag and Burroughs at its helm, was part of a collective movement that led to the emergence of the Beat Generation. This was a counter culture that flaunted its rejection of conventional, puritanical America. Source: [Journals.Openedition.Org](https://journals.openedition.org/viatourism/1696)  
>  **LOOKS THAT INSPIRED THIS STORY:**  
>  -1989, Berlin: Joe – Idris, _Instinct_ (2019).  
> -1989, Berlin: Nicky – Cesare, _Non Essere Cattivo_ (2015).  
> -1989, Berlin: Andy – Lorraine Broughton, _Atomic Blonde_ (2017).  
> -1978, Argentina: Nicky – Primo Nizzuto, _Trust_ (2018)  
> -1968, Tangier: Joe – Ashraf Marwan, _The Angel_ (2018)
> 
>  **FINAL NOTES:**  
>  This is my excuse to explore the idea of their immortality coming to an end without being necessarily bad or tragic. I might love drama and sad endings, but they deserve the very best and that's all I want to give them!  
> I hope Booker still keeps that hoodie.


End file.
